


my heart is a church of scars

by blackkat



Series: and every color illuminates [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Akatsuki Gift Exchange 2018, Akatsuki as the Illuminati, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Time Travel, M/M, Pining, Taking Over the World For Fun and Profit, and fewer conspiracy theories, but with more shinobi sandals, lots of pining, more like Peace and Prosperity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “I just want to gohome,” he tells Nagato, and hates that he sounds so very much like the crybaby child Kakashi always calls him.Nagato's expression twists, grief and sympathy all wrapped up and tangled together. He catches Obito's bandaged face in his hands, leans in to touch their foreheads together, and it’s closer to anyone than Obito has been in years. “I know,” Nagato says, hoarse. “Iknow, Obito. But we can save everyone we love, we can save theworld. All it takes is our sacrifice. And someday, when we’ve put everything to rights, we can go back. We can live in a good world with everyone we care for, andknowthat we’ll never lose them to war. Isn't that worth it?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WithYourRhythm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithYourRhythm/gifts).



The first thing Obito registers after pain and darkness and crushing stone is hands. There's one across his brow, one at the pulse-point on his wrist, and he breathes in sharply, startled, panicked, twitches hard. He can't think why he’s scared, can't understand this instinctual _terror_ in his chest, but he wrenches up and back and—

“Hush,” a voice says, not sharp, but also not warm. Those hands catch him before he can make an escape of more than inches, haul him back down, and the flat slab meets his shoulders with a solid thump. “If you manage to undo my work at this point I’ll be very cross.”

Obito freezes, more from confusion than alarm this time, and there’s gauze across his face, covering his eye and his right side. He reaches for it, jerky, almost tentative, and the rock is all he can remember, the image of it tumbling down towards him too quick to dodge, the impact of it, nauseating and cold in an instant.

Before his fingertips can do more than skim the bandages, though, those fingers catch his, pull his hand away. “Not those,” the voice says, strangely, distantly familiar. Cross, too, just a little. Just enough to register, and Obito flinches.

With a sigh that’s halfway to annoyed, the hand squeezes around his, gripping lightly before it lays his arm back against his chest. “Such wounds are prone to infection,” the person says, like it should be obvious. “There is medication on them at this moment, but exposing them to the open air is more of a risk than I would care to take after your surgery. _Don’t. Touch._ ”

Obito swallows, but doesn’t try to move again. “Surgery?” he asks, and it cracks in his mouth, fractures like brittle stone.

This time, there's a hum that’s full of smug vicious satisfaction. “Of course,” the—the medic? The medic says. A light touch skims down Obito's right side, over more thick bandages. But—

Obito can feel it. There's _sensation_. There's an arm, too, and a leg, when he’d been so sure that half of his body had been crushed completely. He sucks in a startled breath, and from above him there's a sound of amusement.

“Oh yes,” the medic says, lazily smug. “I made a few improvements. Artificial limbs from self-repairing cells, and…perhaps a few bits extra, as well.”

“Who—” Obito chokes out, but can't finish. His head is spinning, not with pain but with _wonder_.

“Why don’t you open your eye and see?” the medic suggests, and there's a sibilant chuckle, a finger on his chin. The bandages are pulled apart, just enough to expose Obito's remaining eye, and he lets it open, looks up.

Orochimaru smirks back at him, that same light of victory in his eyes. His hair is pulled up in a bun on top of his head, and his face looks less angular, more refined. The golden eyes are the same, though, as is the smile that tilts his lips as he surveys Obito. “Yes,” he says, as if to himself. The voice isn't the one Obito remembers, or maybe the tone isn't; he sounds lighter, softer. “These improvements will do perfectly.”

Steps sound from a short distance, steady and deliberate across stone. Audible, but not loud, and when Obito turns his head slowly, painfully to the side, he sees a young man there. Minato's age, probably, with deep red hair and strange violet eyes, pale as if he spends all his time in dark caverns like this one. When he sees Obito looking at him, he smiles, bare and tired and something like regretful, and steps right up to the edge of the table.

“Awake at last,” he says, touching the back of Obito's hand. Obito isn't used to touch, really, not from anyone but Rin, and this is—

 

Comfort, and reassurance, and something like comradery, even though Obito can't begin to understand why.

“Where am I?” he rasps.

The redheaded man glances at Orochimaru, hesitates, then looks back to Obito. “A few miles outside of Ame. The fighting is east and north of us right now.”

It’s leagues from Kannabi Bridge. Alarm flickers, and Obito closes a hand into a fist, trying not to bolt upright again. For the first time he registers a low-level ache all through his body, bone-deep, except in his newly un-crushed limbs. They're tingling, and it feels like growth.

“My team?” he whispers.

This time the redheaded man doesn’t answer, lets Orochimaru lean in and meet Obito's eyes. “Kakashi, Rin, and Minato are all safely back in Konoha,” Orochimaru says. “They assume you dead.”

Obito swallows, and it’s like that rock is on his chest again, weighing, crushing. They didn’t—they didn’t try to find his body. And Obito _understands_ , it’s wartime, Minato and Kakashi are valuable jounin, but—

“Hush, child,” Orochimaru murmurs, and he smiles. In an instant there's none of the calculating coldness Obito is so used to seeing on him, but warmth and something close to sympathy. “You may be dead to the rest of the world, but you are very much alive. And you have great things ahead of you.”

(The emotion on his face doesn’t match what’s in his eyes. It’s all assessment, careful calculation, that touch of victory still riding high, and the curve of his mouth says _kind_ but it also says _I win_.)

“I got _crushed_ ,” Obito hisses, like the words are jarred out of him.

It makes Orochimaru laugh, of all things. “But I repaired you,” he counters, and smiles at Obito. “I _improved_ you.”

The redheaded man says nothing, but his hand finds Obito's, and he carefully, gently tightens his grip on Obito's fingers.

Pulling away, Orochimaru looks them both over, then inclines his head. “I need to see to our plans in Suna. Zetsu, be a dear and check on things.”

“Sure, Orochimaru-sama” a new voice says cheerfully, and Obito twitches. There's a chuckle, and a figure splits off from the darkness. It’s a man, with short green hair and a body split between white and black. He’s grinning widely, and when Orochimaru passes him he turns to follow like a trained dog. A door falls shut behind them, echoing in the cave, and the redheaded man lets out a slow breath.

“It will be all right,” he says quietly, and there's a steady intensity in his eyes. “I know everything is confusing right now, and…unsettling, but you're here for a reason.”

_I **improved** you_ is still ringing in Obito's ears, and he swallows, carefully pushes up. The redheaded man supports him, one arm around his back, the other still gripping his arm. Obito wavers for a moment when he’s upright, but manages to catch his balance, leaning into the solidity of the man’s body to brace himself.

“ _Improved_ me?” he demands, and the words crack.

The redhead winces faintly. “Orochimaru is…like that. But he did save you. No one else would have been able to fix your wounds.”

And with wounds like that, there was never a chance of Obito being a shinobi again, even if he managed to survive the initial injuries. In light of that, just having an arm and a leg that work is bewildering.

Apparently seeing that on his face, the redheaded man eases him up a little straighter. “I'm Nagato,” he says.

“Obito.” Glancing around the room, Obito tries to get a feel for the depth, but there's no trace of light, no sign of the outside world. “Is this a base?”

Nagato carefully, slowly releases him, hesitating near him a moment to make sure he can sit up on his own. Once he is, he turns, heading for a large sink along one wall and taking a glass from a cupboard. He fills it and brings it back, and just the sight of water makes Obito realize he’s desperately thirsty. When he reaches out, it’s with his repaired arm, and he startles at the sight of the skin, off-white and eerie between the sections of the brace on it.

Artificial limbs from self-repairing cells, Orochimaru said. Not Obito's cells, then. Not anything close, by the look of them, and he hesitates, torn between horror and curiosity.

With deft fingers, Nagato catches his wrist, helps support his arm as he presses the glass into Obito's hand. It’s _heavy_ , heavier than it should be, and the ache is immediate, racing up Obito's arm and shoulder like fire. He sucks in a sharp breath, but pushes through, and the first sip of water feels like as much a victory as his first completed mission.

There's something heavy in his chest, though, a trace of trepidation that’s curdling into real fear. He lowers the glass, lets Nagato take it, and looks up into those strange purple eyes.

“You're not going to let me leave,” he realizes, and his throat is so tight it feels like there's a hand around his neck.

Nagato doesn’t deny it. Smiles, a little bitter, a little wry. “You _could_ leave,” he says. “But what we’re doing here—it’s more important than anything you could ever do in your village.”

“What?” Obito wants to shift back, wants to lean away, but at the same time Nagato looks like he absolutely, entirely believes what he’s saying. There's a light in his face, something that _burns_ , and Obito can't tell if he wants to get away from it or get closer.

“We’re going to stop all wars,” Nagato tells him. “ _Forever_. There are members of our group from every village, jounin who know the politics, know the secrets. With a little leverage, a few pushes—we can stop the fighting and make sure it never starts again.”

Obito stares at him, caught off guard. It feels like being in freefall, his promise to Rin laid out in front of him, pared away to the bare bones and made grander. Made to _work_ , because if this world war has taught Obito anything it’s that one person working alone can't stop the fighting.

“Really?” he whispers, and—it’s the boulders again, the fall of rocks, Kakashi leaving and then coming back and then _saving_ him, and Obito had just wanted to make sure he survived. Had wanted to save Kakashi, and Rin, and maybe finishing the mission was the better thing to do, but he _couldn’t_.

_Those who don’t follow orders are trash_ , he thinks, and it’s probably true. But Obito hates the war that makes them chose between orders and friends more than he’s ever hated anything before.

“Why _me_?” he asks helplessly.

Nagato smiles at him. “If Orochimaru chose you, he has a reason,” he says, and glances at the door the Sannin left through. _Something_ touches his expression, hallway between worship and hatred, and he closes his eyes. “He—knows things, sometimes. It’s like he’s lived this life before, and he can see every move before it’s made. With his help, there's no way we can lose.”

Lose at what, Obito wants to know. Manipulating villages? Staying hidden? Nagato said there are members of their—their army? Their group?—from every nation, but Obito has never even heard whispers about such a thing. Especially not of Orochimaru’s involvement. He’s been on the frontlines, but also in the village, and Obito has never seen even a moment of strangeness beyond the ordinary from him.

But thinking of Orochimaru in Konoha makes Obito think of Konoha as a whole. Makes him think of it as something out of reach, and he _aches_. Deeper than bone, past all flesh, and he feels his eye burn with the familiar heat of tears. _I can't go back_ , he thinks, and _hates it_.

“I just want to go _home_ ,” he tells Nagato, and hates that he sounds so very much like the crybaby child Kakashi always calls him.

Nagato's expression twists, grief and sympathy all wrapped up and tangled together. He catches Obito's bandaged face in his hands, leans in to touch their foreheads together, and it’s closer to anyone than Obito has been in _years_. “I know,” Nagato says, hoarse. “I _know_ , Obito. But we can save everyone we love, we can save the _world_. All it takes is our sacrifice. And someday, when we’ve put everything to rights, we can go back. We can live in a good world with everyone we care for, and _know_ that we’ll never lose them to war. Isn't that worth it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but pulls back. Gives Obito a small, sad smile, murmurs, “Get some sleep,” and turns away.

The thud of the door falling shut behind him reverberates through the cavern, and Obito feels it like a blow inside his chest.

 

 

The next visitor isn't Orochimaru or Nagato, but a boy, genin-aged. He’s maybe eight, with messy grey hair that hasn’t seen a comb in a while and wide eyes, and Obito watches him slip through the door with the care of someone who definitely isn't supposed to be here. His eyes settle on the empty bed, then widen sharply, and he jerks around and opens his mouth to yell. A second later he stops short, looking torn, and Obito can see the conflict between alerting someone and staying out of trouble on his face.

It makes him laugh, and the boy wrenches around, eyes landing on Obito as he limps unsteadily out of the shadows. Mouth dropping open, the boy levels a finger at him and shouts, “You’re supposed to be _sleeping_!”

Obito wonders if this is another person Orochimaru _improved_ , if that’s why a group as secretive as this one seems to be would have a genin in their midst. “I slept,” he retorts. “I'm just not sleeping _now_.”

“Well, you _should_ be.” The boy crosses his arms mulishly, scowling at Obito like he’s personally offended by the fact that Obito isn't unconscious on the bed.

“Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone you’re sneaking around where you shouldn’t be,” Obito promises, rolling his eye.

“I can go anywhere I want!” the kid protests, but he looks shifty, glancing back at the door to check for other people. Then, apparently forgetting his indignation, he scoots closer, shadowing Obito as he slowly, arduously makes his way over to the bed and pulls himself up onto it. “Can you do the Zetsu thing? He can stab people with big branches! The blood goes _everywhere_ , it’s _awesome_. Orochimaru said you had the same kinds of limbs, so can you do it too?”

Zetsu. The green-haired man who left with Orochimaru, Obito thinks. And—the white half of his body looks a lot like the skin on Obito's new limbs. Glancing down, he flexes a hand, watching unfamiliar muscle move under the skin, and says honestly, “I don’t know. I only just started walking.”

The boy pulls a face. “ _Lame_ ,” he says. “You’ve been sleeping for _months_ , aren’t you tired of it yet?”

Months? Obito's heart drops, stutters. For an instant he can't breathe, can't even think. Kakashi and Rin and Minato think he’s dead, have been thinking that for _months_. Has Konoha won the war? Who else have they lost in the fighting? Kurenai, or Gai, or Anko? What if—

“How many months?” Obito demands, sliding off the bed again. He staggers and almost falls when his feet hit the floor, but the boy grabs him, gets an arm around him and helps haul him back upright with a grunt of effort.

“How am I supposed to know? You were already here when Kakuzu found me.” The boy makes a face, like he can't decide whether this is a good thing or a bad one. “Your hair’s pretty long, though.”

Obito hadn’t even noticed. He puts a hand up, and it’s an unpleasant shock to realize his hair is almost to his jaw. Too many months, that means.

“I have to go,” he says, and if it’s already a little ragged just from standing, that’s fine. It’s survivable.

“Nagato's gonna yell at you,” the boy says, touched with glee. “He gets mad at me when I leave the base, and I've never even _tried_ going back to Yu.”

“Don’t you want to?” Obito asks desperately, thinking of help, a joint escape. “If you're trapped here—”

The boy scoffs loudly, disgusted. “Why the hell would I want to go back there?” he demands. “They thought I killed a whole clan, and they got mad, and it _wasn’t_ me but they're fucking stupid. And so are you, if you're trying to leave! Don’t you want to be a powerful ninja?”

Obito catches the edge of the door, and tries not to let despair rise when he sees the long, sloping hallways ahead of them. “I'm already a powerful ninja,” he says, but the words numb his lips, make him remember the boulder falling, his own inability to even get out of the way. Shunshin, he could have tried, or putting chakra into his feet and dodging, or _anything_.

He can't understand why Orochimaru pulled him of all people out of the rocks. Even if the rest of the world thinks he’s dead, he’s barely good enough to count as a shinobi at all.

“You could be _more_ powerful,” is the kid’s verdict. “I'm gonna be the most powerful and immortal and _imvinciple_.”

“Invincible,” Obito corrects with another roll of his eye, and tries not to lean on him too heavily as he takes a staggering step forward. The floor is smooth, at least, and he shuffles forward, sore from the walking he’s already done. Sleeping for months makes a lot more sense of the state of his muscles right now, and he grits his teeth, presses forward. He _needs_ to get back to Konoha, needs to make sure that Rin is okay, that Kakashi and Minato are still alive. Weeks was one thing, or days, but _months_ —anything could have happened—

A door just ahead of them opens, and before Obito can even start to freeze there's a step. A man with sandy-colored hair steps out, just pulling a black cloak patterned with red clouds over his shoulders. As the cloth settles, he glances up, and brown eyes widen. “Hidan!” he says, a sharp rebuke, and hurries forward to take Obito's other side. “He’s supposed to be resting!”

“I said that too!” Hidan protests, all wounded indignation. “He’s the one getting out of bed!”

Worry flickers across the man’s face. He’s a little older than Minato, with hair a little longer and pulled back in a high tail, and there are familiar kenjutsu calluses on his hands as he lifts Obito right off his feet. Strong, Obito thinks, and considers kicking out, wants to writhe and bite and get away, but he’s too tired. It’s almost a relief to collapse, boneless, into the man’s grasp.

“Even a little walking is too much right now,” the man says reprovingly, and turns.

That, at least, is enough to jolt Obito back to himself. “No!” he snaps. “I need to get back to Konoha! I need to make sure Rin and Kakashi are okay!”

The man stops, hesitates. He looks at Obito, then down at Hidan, and grimaces. “It’s a long way,” he says. “And you're still hurt, Obito.”

“I _need_ to,” Obito says, ragged but determined.

“They think you're dead.” It’s not an accusation, not anything harsh. Kind, almost, and the man smiles sadly at him, shifts him in his arms. “Believe me, I understand. My family thinks I'm dead, too.”

Obito wonders if Orochimaru improved him, too. Wonders if he’s an experiment saved so he can save the world in turn. “I just want to _see_ them,” he begs.

There's a long moment of silence, and then the man sighs. “Okay,” he says. “But we’re going to have to stay at a distance, okay? They can't see either of us.”

The implication that he’s a Konoha nin too is hard to miss, and Obito blinks. The man laughs a little, light and warm, and his smile is kind. “I'm Senju Nawaki,” he says, and carefully, gently sets Obito on his feet. “Tsunade is my big sister.”

The surprise is sharp, almost bewildering. Obito opens his mouth to ask how that even happened, stops, closes it. He can't think of a single thing to say. He’s heard of Tsunade—it’s hard to miss the strongest kunoichi in the Elemental Countries and the Hokage's wife—but he didn’t know she had a brother. Didn’t know that she had _any_ family left. Isn't she the last of the Senju Clan?

Before he can form words, though, Nawaki curls an arm around him, holding him up, and pulls a sword from beneath his cloak. It’s just a hilt, missing the blade, but there’s a symbol carved into the crossguard, vaguely similar to the Senju Clan symbol. “Hang on,” Nawaki says, and narrows his eyes, takes a breath. “Hidan, do you want to come or stay here?”

“Stay here,” Hidan says firmly, and grins with teeth showing. “I'm gonna go jump on Kakuzu an’ wake him up.”

“I’ll fish you off the ceiling later,” Nawaki promises with a laugh, and pulls Obito in. extends the bladeless hilt, and _steps_.

It feels perfectly identical to the one time Minato carried Obito with his Hiraishin.  

The darkness breaks into light, and the feel of earth under his feet that’s suddenly rougher, rockier, sends Obito spilling forward with a yelp. Nawaki catches him by the collar of his yukata, pulling him back up, and then slides his cloak off his shoulders, wrapping it around Obito and pulling the hood up. When Obito glances up at him, he shrugs, and offers, “Most people aren’t going to recognize me, since I haven’t been in the village since I was a child. But they’ll know you, and if they see you Orochimaru-sensei will get mad at us.”

_Sensei_. Obito was more or less under the impression that Anko was Orochimaru’s only student, since her genin teammates dropped out. but there’s fondness in Nawaki’s voice, familiarity and amusement, like Orochimaru getting mad is a joke, something to be taken lightly.

“Sensei?” he asks, bewildered.

Nawaki laughs a little. “He’s always going to be my sensei, no matter how old I am,” he says easily. “But he was my jounin instructor when I was a kid. He led our squad in the war, too.” Something sadder, grimmer slides into his face, and looks away. “When we trigged a trap, and I was the only one who survived, he saved me. It’s like he became a different person after I woke up.”

_Became a different person_ , from Nawaki, and _like he’s lived this life once already_ , from Nagato. Obito isn't sure whether that’s reassuring or not, and he bites his lip, then asks, “Did he…experiment on you, too?”

“It’s not experimentation,” Nawaki says immediately, stubbornly. “It’s a medical technique that he perfected before he ever used it on you. And on me. He saved us.”

Saved them for what, though? For some secret group? Obito looks away, and there's a hot, hollow sort of anger in his chest, not directed at Orochimaru but at _everything_. At Nagato, too, a little, for his vision of a world where there’s no war, no having to fight on battlefields with little chance of surviving even until they reach twenty.

“Come on,” Nawaki says gently, and leans down, picking Obito up again. “Your team meets on Training Ground 7, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but leaps up, light and easy, to land in the branches of an oak. Darts forward, deft across the branches, and says, “My team never met there, but Jiraiya’s did. Minato was his student, so I guess he liked it enough to keep up the habit.”

“Were you in Minato's class?” Obito asks, and the knowledge that he’s close to Rin and Kakashi, headed for them, eases the tension even as it increases it. The forest is familiar, traced through with creeks flowing from the Nakano, and he can feel chakra around them, not the village but something that seems vaster, older. There’s a weight to it, like a blanket, and he breathes in, his head spinning from the force of it.

“Two years ahead of him,” Nawaki murmurs, barely audible, and his next jump is perfectly silent, not even the rustle of cloth to give him away. He shifts Obito into the curve of his arm, lifts a hand and shapes a seal, and the cool, tingling wash of a chameleon jutsu covers them both. Lightly, Nawaki crouches, setting Obito on his feet on the branch, and Obito catches himself on the trunk, leans forward—

His team is in the clearing. The _remainder_ of his team is in the clearing, really; Minato is sitting on a rock, sharpening a kunai, and he looks pale, exhausted, worn down to the bone. At his side, Rin is curled up in the grass, fast asleep, and Obito has seen her on the tail-end of terrible missions enough times to recognize near-charka exhaustion. Obito looks at both of them, watches, but—the one his gaze is drawn to is Kakashi.

Kakashi is still up, still moving, but he shouldn’t be, and even Obito can tell that. He’s shaking as he moves through textbook-perfect taijutsu forms, the kunai in his hand unwavering but his eyes glassy, and there's a bandage stained red wrapped around his shoulder. Minato is observing him carefully, but he isn't saying anything, and Obito can _feel_ the words in his mouth, straining to get past his teeth.

_Don’t be stupid,_ he wants to shout. _Stop that, you're killing yourself. No one’s going to cry at your funeral if you die because you’re dumb, idiot_.

But Nawaki’s hand is at the nape of his neck, and when Obito glances up Nawaki is looking down on the team, and his eyes are sad. There's regret in the slant of his mouth, but also something set, steady, determined.

“We have to keep them safe,” he says, just barely loud enough for Obito to hear, and his eyes linger on Minato, heavy with something Obito can't read. “We have to stop the wars so they won't die for the village the way they think they should.”

“Isn't that what shinobi are supposed to do?” Obito asks, but these words are numb, too, spread that same sort of poison across his lips and down his throat.

Nawaki shakes his head. “My grandfather founded this village,” he says, and crouches down beside Obito, balanced on the balls of his feet. “He wanted to stop people dying needlessly, not give them another reason. Sacrifice is one thing, giving up time, or comfort—but if they die, there's no coming back. We can't save them then. But like this, as long as we’re in Akatsuki, as long as we can find a way to control the villages—we can make sure they live. I'm doing this for Tsunade, and for Dan. Who would you do it for?”

_I don’t want to do it at all_ , Obito almost says, but…it’s a lie. It’s entirely, wholly a lie right now, because he’s watching Kakashi self-destruct and he _hates_ it. This is because of war. This is because of the village turning on Sakumo and calling him a traitor for doing the _right thing_ and Obito wants to make sure that Kakashi never, ever has to face that again.

“For them,” he says, half-strangled, but the words feel right. The words have weight, and all the care of a vow. “I want—I want to do it for _them_.” For Rin curled up asleep, exhausted from healing, for Minato looking so grim when he’s supposed to be smiling. For Kakashi, for Kakashi, for that stupid idiot who saved Obito's life and lost an eye and kept going anyway, who cried as the rocks came down that last time.

“Good,” Nawaki says softly, and takes them away in a burst of green-blue light.


	2. Chapter 2

Kiri is dark and warm and pouring rain, and Obito looks up at the sky, wrinkling his nose. He tugs his hat down a little more firmly, but there's only so much straw can do against this downpour.

At his side, Kisame chuckles, apparently unbothered by the weather. “We’ll make it to the village soon,” he promises.

“At least it’s not Ame,” Obito says, more to himself than anything. “Ame’s rain is _cold_.”

Kisame laughs, like supply runs are the most fun they can have. “Makes me feel like a fish,” he says, and Obito wisely doesn’t comment.

The road to Kiri is mostly empty, one farmer with an oxcart a good distance ahead of them. There’s a kid perched on top of the load, and Obito looks them over, not about to get caught off guard by genin. They might be genin; he can only see a girl, but she’s very determinedly working at her sandal in a way that says she’s not paying attention to anything else, and Obito doesn’t trust that. He glances over at Kisame, and Kisame looks back, grin full of teeth as he lifts his brows.

Obito considers it for half a minute, then shakes his head, raising a hand to make sure his mask is firmly in place. “We told Leader we wouldn’t start anything,” he reminds Kisame, and when the swordsman pouts at him he laughs. “Give him that face, not me.”

“Maybe I will,” Kisame says, and pulls his hat down just a little further to shade the blue skin of his face. “Do you think he’d give me the eyes?”

“If he does, you’ll get twenty ryo from Deidara,” Obito reminds him, and smiles at Kisame's chuckle. The cart is moving more slowly than they are, so they're already closer to it, and it’s easy to see the driver is a lean man with the hood of his coat pulled up. Interesting, Obito thinks, but doesn’t make eye contact as they pass. The driver doesn’t look at him, just bobs his head, but that’s not unusual, given civilian reactions to shinobi. What _is_ unusual is the way the little girl doesn’t give him so much as a second glance, either.

 _Konoha_? Kisame signs, where their bodies will block the motion. It’s a unique sign language, too; anyone outside of Akatsuki trying to follow it will just register gibberish.

Obito doesn’t look back at the thin man, but casts a glance sideways, lets himself catch a flicker of motion out of his periphery. There's another child in the cart, asleep on the driver’s bench, and though he’s covered in a blanket Obito can make out golden hair, whisker marks on his cheeks.

 _Yes_ , he signs back, and Kisame tips his head towards the village, then back towards Kusa. With Kamui it’s easy enough to get anywhere they need quickly, and even if Deidara says food tastes weird after it passes through Obito's dimension, he’s the only one who even pretends to care.

“Sasori wanted more wood,” he says, makes it light, like it could be a random reminder instead of a response, but Kisame huffs in understanding. Kusa won't have the kinds of wood Sasori likes, and if they do, it will be a lot more expensive than in Kiri. Their budget is large enough for most things, but Obito spent enough years as a child pinching pennies that the waste puts his hackles up on instinct. Besides, if they spend too much Kakuzu will take it out of their hides, and Kisame might enjoy that fight, but Obito won't.

“Gives me a chance to check up on the brat,” Kisame says cheerfully, “and his brat, too.”

“Isn't Zabuza only three years younger than you?” Obito asks, amused, and catches a faint rustle in the trees. He doesn’t look at that, either, but lets the Sharingan fade back to plain black, giving up the sharpness in favor of keeping his identity hidden. A moment later, he’s glad he did; there's a flash of blue between the bushes, a patch of red in a familiar shape. The Uchiha crest, Obito knows, and keeps his gaze forward. A skinny scarecrow of a driver, a girl, Minato's son, and an Uchiha boy—it has to be Kakashi and his new genin team, even if Obito hasn’t seen them for himself yet. It’s generally too risky for him to go back to Konoha, no matter how much it hurts. Just knowing Kakashi is behind him makes the skin between his shoulders itch, makes him want to turn around and look back and just make _sure_ that Kakashi’s still in one piece, still whole. That he hasn’t lost anyone else in the year since Obito last checked in on him, watched him smile at one of the ANBU recruits and retreated feeling both bruised and satisfied.

“Two. And that doesn’t mean he’s not a brat,” Kisame says with a laugh, and pats the hilt of his sword. “We have long enough to spar?”

“For a normal spar? Sure,” Obito says dryly. “For one of your spars? Kakuzu will come drag us home by our ears.”

“Might be worth it,” Kisame says, because he’s a masochist. Obito throws up his hands, because the _last_ time something like that happened, Kakuzu was extra grouchy for _weeks_ , and muttered about upstart idiots whenever people tried to talk to him.

“I won't cry at your funeral,” he warns Kisame, who just chuckles. With a snort, Obito picks up his pace, rounding the bend of the road to see Kiri's gates standing open. There's a woman leaning against the guard post, arms crossed over her chest, apparently unbothered by the rain, and Obito heads for her without pause, falling into step as she pushes away and turns back into the village.

“Anything?” he asks.

Mei smirks, perfect red lips and fiery hair and simmering rage. “Lots of things,” she says, makes it throaty, teasing. “Want to come find out what?”

It’s a hell of a lot safer to go along with Mei than try to resist, Obito has found, so he turns with her, following her up a side street towards the bay. She only glances over her shoulder once, then apparently dismisses the threat of being followed, and she’s got a tight enough grip on the village that Obito trusts her instinct.

“Yagura isn't giving you any trouble?” he asks lowly.

Mei laughs, rich and warm and mocking. “He wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, and checks her nails. “But more leverage over his other commanders wouldn’t be unappreciated.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Obito promises, because Mei is one of their top agents, even if she’s never deigned to join Akatsuki herself.

“How about that lovely lady of yours? Is she not with you this time?”

“We’re just checking in,” Obito says, because saying that Konan picked checking on Konoha over Kiri won't make him any friends here. “You know there's a Konoha team on the road?”

Mei tosses her hair over her shoulder, stepping into the doorway of her house and undoing the seal with a flick of her fingers. “Of course. Coming to meet Utakata and Yagura, I’m sure. They won't learn anything about important matters.”

And if they do, it will be easy enough to destabilize things, give Mei the coup she’s been aiming for. Yagura is decent as far as Mizukage go, but Mei has a vision of a better Kiri, and the ambition to put it into place by any means necessary.

“You can send a hawk if you need us,” Obito says, and steps in after her. Jinchuuriki meeting always has the potential to be explosive, though Utakata at least is levelheaded.

Dropping her cloak on a hook, Mei trades her shoes for slippers without so much as glancing back at him, then keeps going deeper into the house. “As much as I love having a cadre of beautiful shinobi at my beck and call, I’d greatly prefer you keeping your noses out of Kiri's business whenever possible,” she says, full of killing sweetness.

Blackmail material is fine, though, Obito assumes, and it’s a sardonic thought. “Of course,” he says instead, because letting people know just how tight a grip Akatsuki has on the countries tends to make them jumpy. “But the offer stands.”

Mei waves a hand in acknowledgement over her shoulder, then vanishes, and calls back, “The folder is on the table.”

It is, and it’s marked _accounting_. Obito snorts quietly, but takes it, tucking it into his cloak. He doesn’t bother offering a goodbye, but lets the whirl of Kamui catch him, sweeping him up and away. Darkness passes over him, twists away to reveal a familiar office occupied by a slight figure, and at the sound of Obito's sandals on the floor he twitches, turns sharply.

“Still plotting?” Yagura says sharply, eyes narrowed.

Obito meets his stare head on, holds it for a long moment, and then silently inclines his head. Mei needs someone to play off of, someone to drag around; Yagura responds best to the show of subservience, even when Akatsuki has never served anyone but the good of the world.

After a long moment, Yagura huffs, apparently satisfied with the power play. “I don’t have anything for you,” he says shortly. “Be out of my village by nightfall.”

Obito nods again, and this time when he turns away he takes the door out, the stairs down. Several people glance at him, but Obito changes his mask each time he’s here, never bothers with any uniform beyond closely-fitted black. They look away again promptly, and it sparks a flicker of satisfaction. Akatsuki is the world’s greatest secret, and they walk in the daylight as easily as the night. No one knows to suspect them. The best secret in the world is one someone doesn’t even know exists, and that’s what they’ve become.

The years of training were worth it, the lessons, the struggle. Obito never considered himself a good shinobi as a child, came second best in everything if he even placed at all, but Orochimaru is one of the best shinobi Obito has ever encountered. Obito learned cleverness from him, cunning and how to be a good fighter more than the powers and techniques he always thought would help him win as a child. He’s strong now. _They're_ strong now; Akatsuki is small, but that doesn’t matter when every Kage, every village headman and serious rival, is under their control. Akatsuki pulls the strings, and the shinobi world dances.

There hasn’t been a single war, or even a major political incident, since they took over.

It’s subtle, sly. A snake’s conquest, not even letting the rat know the snake has seen it. A whisper here, a word there, and the tides turn. As a child, Obito always thought power was jutsus and devastating blows, but now he knows it’s something entirely different.

As he emerges from the Mizukage's tower, a small huddle of figures catches his attention. A tall man, scarecrow thin, with a trio of children around him, and—

Obito doesn’t know if he wants to smile or curse.

For half a second, he wishes Kisame was still with him, instead of off harassing Zabuza and his apprentice for their information. Wishes that he had someone to turn to, to talk to, instead of an empty space next to him and a desperate sort of awareness of his own scarred face beneath the mask. Like this it’s easy enough to recognize Kakashi by the shadow of his mask, the angle of his hood where it can't defeat the force of his hair. Obito hasn’t seen him in a year now; Orochimaru rotates their assignments, keeping them from getting complacent, and Konan picked Konoha on this last round. The time hasn’t hurt Kakashi, though. He seems better fed, more well rested; apparently coming off of ANBU was good for him. Obito isn't sure how much the children have helped, since Kakashi was never exactly the nurturing type, but clearly they haven’t hurt anything.

Forcing his feet into motion, he keeps walking like he never stopped at all, keeps his head a little ducked even though he’s wearing a hunter-nin’s mask beneath a hat. Every inch of skin is covered, but it still itches at him like fear, or maybe something else entirely, as he slips past Kakashi and his team, turning down a side street. It’s too dangerous to rest a room somewhere in the village, but he still needs to find a place to sleep and review Mei's information. Preferably not his dimension, not with Kakashi so close; Orochimaru warned him, when the eye evolved, that strong emotions could make the connection between the separated eyes stronger, let their vision cross. Simply using Kamui probably wouldn’t be enough, but it’s an eerie thought, and not something Obito wants to risk.

“—were we going to meet the old man?” Minato and Kushina's son is saying loudly as Obito passes a side alley where they’ve moved, and his face is screwed up in confusion.

“He’s not old,” Kakashi says, with a particular inflection that says _I'm so tired, someone save me_ better than outright words ever could. “He’s almost my age.”

“Old,” Naruto concludes, also loudly, and the Uchiha boy grunts in agreement. Sasuke, Obito thinks reluctantly. It’s Sasuke, Mikoto’s son. Of course it is. Even the girl looks like she wants to agree but is too polite to voice it, giving Kakashi a skeptical glance.

Kakashi stares down at the tree of them for a long moment, then offers one of the bullshit smiles that always makes Obito's blood pressure rise just looking at it. Why can't the idiot just smile _normally_ , when he means it? that’s what normal people do. But Kakashi plasters that bullshit smile across his face and says, with completely false cheer, “Ah, we can ask this fine member of Kiri's ranks. Hunter-nin-san, do you know where we can find Utakata?”

 _Fuck_.

There aren’t any other hunter-nin on the street, no one else Kakashi could be talking to. Obito glances back, not sure whether he wants to try and make a break for it or just ignore them, but before he can decide a hand grabs his elbow. A _small_ hand.

“Hey, hey!” Naruto says, still about three notches above most people’s normal speaking voices. “I know somebody with a mask like yours! I kicked his butt in Wave!”

“ _Naruto_ ,” the girl hisses. “Don’t say that!”

Sasuke turns his face away, clearly pretending he doesn’t know anyone on the street and definitely isn't traveling with these three.

For a moment, Obito stares down into Kushina's face with Minato's coloring, caught off guard. He has to swallow, because he’s _missed_ them. Stolen glances aren’t enough, not with the knowledge that they’ve spent the last thirteen years thinking that Obito is dead. Obito missed their wedding, missed Naruto's birth, missed Minato's appointment as Jounin Commander. He hasn’t seen _any_ of their lives except brief snatches whenever he dares to spend more than an hour or two in the village.

“Utakata?” he repeats, because there isn't a single other word in his head.

“We have a delivery for him.” Kakashi’s voice is light, but just within the shadow of his hood his eyes are sharp. “If you can direct us to him, we’ll be on our way.”

“Delivery?” Naruto says, and then when the girl kicks him he yelps. “Delivery! Yeah, we’re delivering him a big, uh, deliverance.”

If Sasuke pretends any harder that he doesn’t know them he’s going to cease to exist.

Obito looks from Kakashi to Naruto, who’s pouting and rubbing his shin, and then turns, deciding he’s better off far away from all of them. Kakashi probably won't recognize his voice post-puberty, but there's always the chance, and it’s too great for Obito. It’s why Nawaki doesn’t spend long in Konoha, either, regardless of how he sometimes follows around behind Minato like a wistful ghost.

Some things are more important than the comfort of a familiar face, and keeping the world from more war and strife is definitely part of that.

“Maa,” Kakashi says, lazy, but there's the faintest edge of something like suspicion beneath it as he falls into step with Obito. “Thanks for volunteering to be our guide.”

Obito curses inwardly, turns sharply, and lets his cloak flare out. Kakashi leaps back to avoid it, and Obito takes the opening, springing up onto the closest rooftop.

“Off we go, my cute little genin,” Kakashi says from behind him, because he’s the biggest asshole Obito has ever met. “He’s going to show us the way.”

Naruto cheers happily, and a moment later three pairs of sandals clatter over the roof, hot in pursuit. Obito doesn’t even glance back; he dives over the side of the roof, ducks through an alley, crosses a patch of lichen-festooned wood, and throws himself up onto the next rooftop—

With a whirl of leaves, Kakashi materializes right in front of him, hood still flopping over his eyes and hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Yo,” he says, and that’s _definitely_ a smirk on his face.

 _I hate you_ , Obito thinks fervently, but stops. He jabs a finger at the section of the city where Utakata lives, hoping that will be enough, but Kakashi just gives him another of those stupid smiles and offers up—

A kunai. One of _Obito's_ kunai. With an offended hiss, Obito reaches over to snatch it from his fingers, but Kakashi rocks back just out of range, twirls it around his finger, and tucks it into his vest.

“When we find Utakata, I’ll give it back,” he promises.

Obito folds his arms across his chest, glaring at Kakashi as best he can through his mask. He pitches his voice a little lower, adds an edge of growl to mimic Kakuzu, and asks, “What’s to stop me from reporting a foreign squad in the village?”

“The Mizukage knows we’re here,” Kakashi says, blithely enough that Obito can't tell whether it’s a lie or not. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to take us where we want to go?”

There's a loud shout from the wood behind them, a roar that sounds suspiciously like a Katon jutsu, and a shriek. Obito lets his incredulous silence speak for him.

To his credit, Kakashi doesn’t wince. “If I have to suffer through them, I like to inflict them on as many other people as possible,” he admits easily, and waves a hand at Obito. “Ladies first.”

 _Such_ an asshole. Obito hisses at him angrily, but leaps down, Kakashi right behind him. As they touch down, Naruto and his teammates shove out of the forest, both damp and slightly scorched. The girl looks ready to murder someone, and both of the boys are sporting lumps on their heads. Obito doesn’t need training in analyzing events to guess what happened.

“This way,” he says, deciding that the best course of action is to get them to Utakata and get his kunai back before Kakashi can realize it’s marked with one of Nawaki’s Hiraishin symbols. He won't recognize it unless he’s familiar with Tobirama’s Hiraishin mark, but Kakashi is enough of a nerd for Obito to suspect that of all the people in Konoha, Kakashi could be the one soul who’s looked up that information besides Minato.

“Your voice is weird,” Naruto says, cheerfully enough, and practically bounces up beside Obito as he turns towards Utakata’s house. “Are you sick?”

“Fuck off,” Obito mutters, taking a step sideways so he’s safely out of grabbing range.

If Naruto hears, though, it doesn’t deter him. He turns to Sasuke and demands, “Oi, teme, you owe me ramen! I got through first!”

“I do not,” Sasuke says, annoyed. “It was a tie, dead last.”

“I'm not dead last!”

“You are on this team. Stop _shouting_.”

“Stop it, _both_ of you!” the girl says, and she sounds so much like Kushina that Obito almost has to do a double take. She’s not an Uzumaki, though—her chakra reserves don’t seem nearly large enough. “Sasuke, _I_ made it through first and you know it.”

Sasuke huffs, but looks away. “Naruto still wasn’t first,” he says mulishly.

The girl rolls her eyes, but trots up to plant herself on Obito's other side. “I'm Sakura,” she offers with a smile. “Are you allowed to tell us your name? Or your codename?”

Obit doesn’t have a code name. Most Kiri nin take one look at his mask and keep on moving. Some even avert their eyes. Hunter-nin are comrade-killers, and even if that means less in a place like Kiri, it still means _something_. He picked the persona for a reason, to keep under the radar, and having Kakashi _accost_ him and set his genin after him—if Obito wasn’t absolutely sure that Kakashi didn’t know he was still alive, he’d almost be suspicious. But this is regular Kakashi levels of assholery right now, not anything more, and Obito has spent enough time watching Kakashi stand over his grave to know exactly how deeply Kakashi mourns him.

“Tobi,” he finally says, when he realizes Sakura is still watching him like she’s waiting for an answer. Kakashi glances at him when he hears the name, but there's no greater reaction, and Obito lets out a slow, careful breath.

He _wants_ Kakashi to see him. He wants to lift up his mask and show Kakashi his face and see Kakashi’s shock and relief and happiness. He wants to turn around and walk back to Konoha shoulder to shoulder with Kakashi, the genin around them, and hug Minato and tackle Kushina and walk outside without wearing a mask. He wants to go _home_ , and Kakashi is an integral part of that home.

Even more, though, he wants the peace to last. He wants to be able to stop plots between the villages before they happen, the way he and Konan did with Kumo's plot against the Hyuuga. He wants Kakashi to keep smiling at people who don’t have to wear masks and live in the shadows, and he wants that more than he wants his own happiness.

It makes him think of Nawaki, sitting in a tree and watching Minato train for hours at a time. Makes him think of Nawaki’s sad smile, and the way he brushes away questions about Minato, and the way he so very carefully keeps out of range of Tsunade whenever she sets out on another mission to find her presumed-dead little brother and bring him back. The Hokage's wife clinging to a desperate hope is seen as something regretful, pitiable, and her trips make Nawaki sad, too. Make him go quiet until Orochimaru notices, takes him away to walk the halls of the base, and if his smile is a little less bright when they come back, well—

It’s a price paid, a sacrifice, but it’s _worth it_. As a group Akatsuki is more powerful than most Kage, more influential than all the Daimyō put together. They work from the shadows, and that just means they can appreciate the light all the more.

“It’s a pleasure,” Kakashi says lightly, though Obito notices he doesn’t offer his own name. Clearly Kakashi isn't quite as at ease with this situation as he’s pretending to be; Obito has to wonder if it comes from being in a foreign village with Minato's son, being here with a jinchuuriki, or the fact that he’s come in complete secret to meet Kiri's two jinchuuriki. Probably the last—if they're trying to find people to teach Naruto, they likely want to keep it quiet, and given Kumo's tensions with Konoha after the failed attempt to kidnap the Hyuuga Clan Head’s daughter, as well as A’s rivalry with Minato, there's no way Nii Yugito or Killer B would agree to teach Naruto anything.

A flicker of motion ahead of them catches his eye, and he turns his head to see Kisame rounding the corner in front of them, heading their direction. Zabuza and Haku are both with him, Zabuza with his sword slung over his shoulder and a scowl on his face, Haku serene but watchful. As they approach, Kisame gives Obito a grin full of teeth, but Obito can see the offer to step in that’s behind it. His hand is close to Samehada, and he sizes up Kakashi with a sweep of his eyes, then glances back.

Almost imperceptibly, Obito shakes his head, and Kisame immediately turns his gaze back to Zabuza, who looks unimpressed by the whole production. Haku glances from Kisame to Obito, then looks away, like there was never anything of interest about them.

Kakashi’s gaze is on Kisame, though, and not even wavering. “I didn’t know hunter-nin worked with the Seven Swordsmen,” he says, deceptively mild.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” Obito retorts, and makes the turn towards the upper caste district with quick steps. This is the place Mei has been itching to tear down; she’s high caste herself, but with her two bloodlines, with her friendships among the lower and lowest caste, she’s spent a lot of time trying to tear the system apart. Given Yagura's lack of assistance the last few times Akatsuki has come to see him, Obito is almost tempted to let her.

Kakashi hums, light and easy, accepting that without argument. “Like I don’t know the kunoichi who met you at the gate,” he says, casting a sideways look at Obito. “Wife?”

Obito ignores that, because there's no good way to answer. _The only one since Rin who’s ever made my heart trip over itself is you_ will _definitely_ tell Kakashi who he is, and beyond that, it’s a stupid thing to admit. Kakashi’s got a better future than—than _Obito_ , and all the things that come with him.

“It’s there,” he says instead, stopping at the edge of the street and tipping his head at the low, round building at the end of the road. When he turns away, though, Kakashi is still watching him. Not suspicious, not quite, but touched with something like calculation, assessment. Thoughtful, more than anything.

“I've seen you in Konoha before,” he says, meeting Obito's gaze. “You were coming out of the Hokage's office.”

“Messages,” Obito says shortly, and it’s true enough. Dan is willing to offer plenty of information in exchange for blackmail on Danzō and his old guard that can keep them in line, and the world rests more easily when Danzō isn't spinning his plots across the Elemental Nations. Dropping off and picking up information is something Obito tries to time for when Kakashi, Minato, and Rin are out of the village, but he doesn’t always manage it.

“Hmm,” Kakashi offers, the _bullshit_ practically audible in his tone. He tips his head, pulling the kunai from his pocket, but before he can say anything, Naruto bolts ahead.

“Thanks, weird guy!” he calls cheerfully, even as Sakura yelps and runs after him, and Sasuke curses and follows. While Kakashi is in the middle of taking a step after his wayward students, Obito snatches the kunai, leaps up onto the closest roof, and drops down the other side, then picks up a run.

This time no one follows him, and he tries not to be disappointed by that fact.


	3. Chapter 3

“Thank you, Obito,” Orochimaru says, accepting the pared-down folder that Obito shoves at him. Taking it, he flips through the first few pages, then smirks. “Terumī certainly wants the Mizukage's seat, doesn’t she?”

“She’s getting more blatant about it,” Obito confirms, dropping down in the closest chair and tugging off his mask. “Yagura didn’t have anything. Again. Zabuza had more than usual, though. I think it balances.”

“Aside from the fact that Yagura seems to think we will protect his seat while gaining nothing in return,” Orochimaru says absently, dog-earring one of the pages for future consideration and then setting the folder to the side. “Perhaps I will ask Nagato to speak with him,”

The serial killer housewife vibe is always amusing, Obito thinks, watching Orochimaru rearrange documents on his desk. It’s something he’s gotten used to over the years, the change from the Orochimaru he always heard rumors about, saw from a distance in the village, and at this point he can't imagine Orochimaru as anyone else.

“Nagato always says you can see the future,” he offers, and isn't sure why he does.

Orochimaru doesn’t look up. “Nagato will believe what he likes about me. At least he no longer thinks I'm out to kill him and his friends.”

Obito snorts, but pulls his legs up under himself, sitting cross-legged in the chair. Orochimaru has no compunctions kicking people out of his office when he wants privacy, so without the order to go Obito will assume he’s welcome. “But you do know things,” he says, because he’s asked before and never gotten a straight answer. “That’s why you saved me.”

It doesn’t make sense otherwise. Obito was dead last, always late, always _failing_. He couldn’t even dodge falling rocks, and he definitely didn’t manage much of anything during the war. Even the Uchiha didn’t like him much, and they pride themselves on making sure all members of the clan are up to standard.

With a hum, Orochimaru shifts several stacks of papers, tapping them into neater piles and laying them out. “You always had potential,” he says, and he still hasn’t looked up. “I pride myself on working through possible outcomes, and with your assumed death, I had the opportunity to acquire a soldier who could move unnoticed, unsuspected. Members like Kisame, who maintain ties to their village, are quite valuable, but I find you more so.” He straightens, turning, and that smile is a dare, a secret, a threat in the darkness, but when he reaches out to cup Obito's scarred cheek his fingers are deft and gentle. “I have many pawns on my board, Obito, and I know where each one will move. I have my knights and bishops, as well, but I only have one queen.”

This is Orochimaru. He could easily mean that Nagato is his queen, or that Nawaki is. The meaning is left open so Obito can assume what he wants, but—that’s all right. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, and Orochimaru’s free hand strokes his hair.

“I knew your potential,” Orochimaru says again. “A few hard pushes, a little motivation—you always had the making of being the best of your generation on the battlefield. Blind men like to see potential as wasted talent, but I see it as metal unforged, waiting for a smith’s hand.”

Maybe Obito should be offended that Orochimaru talks about him—about all of them—as an object, a weapon. He’s been Orochimaru’s student for over a decade now, though, and he understands why Nawaki always smiles when he talks about his teacher. Orochimaru is anything but kind, anything but good, but he’s fierce. There's an edge of passion in him that might be madness, but it’s captivating either way. And beyond that, in a handful of months Orochimaru helped Obito grow in a way Minato never could, pared him down to a handful of skills and muscle and built him back up again. Nothing gentle, nothing _nice_ , but they're shinobi. They're taking over the world without anyone ever noticing. Obito wouldn’t want him to be nice. That ruthlessness is what’s gotten them this far.

“Kakashi and his genin team were in Kiri,” he says, opening his eye and glancing up, and Orochimaru raises a brow in return.

“Was he,” he says mildly, but there's a considering slant to his mouth. “The reason?”

“Visiting Utakata, possibly Yagura as well.” Obito watches him turn away, going back to his papers. He sorts through them quickly, tugs out several sheets and lays them out, frowning down at them thoughtfully.

“Hmm.” Orochimaru traces a finger over a small map, then tilts his head, lifting one hand so that his draping sleeve hides his mouth. “Perhaps, if Yagura is overthrown and decides to leave Kiri, a relocation to Konoha would be possible. If little Naruto had a teacher with decent command of his bijuu, and a relatable situation…”

“He has Kushina,” Obito points out.

Orochimaru dismisses that with a tip of one hand. “Kushina has never cared to use the Kyuubi’s power. She would rather seal it away and keep it hidden, relying on her own strength. If Naruto _did_ learn to use it, however, there could be a shift in Konoha's reputation. Perhaps enough of one to capitalize on, where the jinchuuriki are concerned—Rasa has certainly not attempted to do anything with his son in recent years. It’s like he’s given up on the boy.”

“Sasori?” Obito suggests, because Sasori is terminally derisive of everything to do with Rasa and his control of Suna.

Long fingers tap the paper. “A possibility,” Orochimaru allows. “But…I had rather thought the Kazekage's brother-in-law might be a good fit.”

That’s…diabolical. Obito snorts, because he’s spent time in Suna, knows Yashamaru’s views on Rasa all too well. “He’d do it if you framed it as better for Gaara. And he’s strong enough that the council wouldn’t make a fuss.”

“We’ll need more leverage on them,” Orochimaru decides, and looks up with a sly smile. “Either found or created. Obito, would you be a dear?”

Obito slides off the chair, rising to his feet and coming over to take the pages Orochimaru holds out. “My pleasure,” he says, and Orochimaru laughs, low and wicked, and kisses his scarred cheek.

 

 

There's a small lakeside town just over the River Country border, and Obito stops there with some relief on his way back from Suna, still shaking the sand from his hair. Uchiha aren’t meant for deserts; what skin he dared to show is patch with sunburn in some very odd shapes, and his throat feels so dry he’s tempted to just stick his head in the lake and start drinking. Rasa's position is teetering, though, and there are swathes of support for Yashamaru among the shinobi. Yashamaru himself got a visit and seems to be motivated to take the position from his brother-in-law, especially when informed that it was Akatsuki who saved him from dying at Gaara's hands six years ago. It’s a successful end to the mission, and Obito could use Kamui to step right back to the base in the Mountain’s Graveyard, but he wants at least one night somewhere with a soft bed and a nighttime breeze.

The border town is a quiet one, with a handful of shinobi present but far more merchant caravans stocking up for the trip across the desert. No one pays much attention to Obito, masked and with his hood drawn, as he pays for a night at the inn. Its rooms overlook the lake, lean right over it, and there's little chance of being seen from the outside, so Obito is more than willing to hand over his ryo for the luxury.

Of course, the lack of threat means he’s taken entirely by surprise when he turns around to find Kakashi right behind him.

He’s not alone in his surprise; Kakashi’s eye goes wide, and he rocks onto his heels like he’s only just stopping himself from stepping back. “Tobi,” he says, and the tone is mild but his look is anything but. “You're a long way from Kiri.”

Damn it, Obito thinks, and debates calling the innkeeper back, handing over his room key and leaving. That would be even more suspicious, though.

“And you're a long way from Konoha,” he retorts. There are no genin that he can see, and when he stretches out his senses there's no bonfire-bright point of light marking Naruto's presence.

Kakashi’s eye crinkles, and he offers Obito a lazy salute. “You caught me, hunter-nin,” he says lightly. “Here to enjoy the scenery?”

It would be better to leave now. It’s the only smart thing, really, because there's always a chance that Kakashi could catch wind of the instability in Suna, put it together with Obito's presence, point fingers back at Kiri. Causing more strife is the opposite of what Obito wants to do, and it could topple a whole host of plans that will be hard to recover. But—

Obito is an idiot. He’s _always_ been an idiot, and thirteen years training under Orochimaru haven’t managed to change that.

“A peaceful night,” he allows, and there's the faintest curl to Kakashi’s covered mouth, like success. He tucks his hands in his pockets, slouched and lazy like he isn't all the more dangerous for it, and smiles at Obito.

“I hear the lake is great for swimming.”

Obito swallows against the image, Kakashi in the water in the moonlight, maybe with Obito sliding in to join him. nothing sexual, just—sensual.

It’s been a long time since Obito has even seen another person’s bare skin, or enjoyed that kind of closeness. He’s never spent the night with anyone, either—the scars are too distinct, as are his oddly-white limbs. Prostitutes make a lot of money selling information back to the villages, and Obito can't risk it. not for money, and not with anyone he meets in a bar, because word of who he is getting out would be a disaster.

It’s been years, though. He wants to swim out in the open, wants to reach for Kakashi and take his hand. Wants to lean in to him, confess that he’s alive, see if Kakashi still—

There's heat in Obito's cheeks, under the mask. He turns sharply on his heel, walks away before he says or does something the whole of Akatsuki will regret.

Of course, footsteps follow him, lazily predatory. Kakashi is just a meter behind him, and Obito can feel the itch of eyes on his back, a weight between his shoulder blades.

“You seem to be in an awful hurry for someone out to see the sights,” Kakashi says mildly.

“Tired,” Obito says shortly, which is an outright lie. The Hashirama cells Orochimaru spliced with his own mean he only rarely has to sleep, and even his work in Suna isn't enough to lower his chakra levels by any significant amount. “Shouldn’t you be with your genin?”

“I’m only a co-sensei,” Kakashi says, like it isn't giving information away to a complete stranger. Obito _knows_ Kakashi, though; if he’s saying it, there's a reason. “My teammate has them right now. She pretends to be the nice one and then takes them on border patrols for fun.”

Obito can image Rin as that kind of sensei. He smiles a little to himself, because she’s probably a good one, and also terrifying. She likely has the whole team wrapped around her finger.

“Then don’t you have better things to do than follow me?” he demands, and it’s possible there’s less of a bite in his voice than he intends, but—they're good thoughts, and he can't help it.

“You probably shouldn’t be so self-centered,” Kakashi says, but he’s definitely smirking, even if Obito refuses to turn around to see. “My room is this way, too.”

Obito is definitely going to sneak into his room and glue his hair to his pillow. _You're an ass_ , he almost says, but traps the words just in time. There's no need to throw clues about who he is in Kakashi’s face.

“Have a nice stay, then,” he manages, and if it’s entirely too sarcastic, well. Obito isn't a saint, and can't be held to those standards. He checks the room number, shoves his key into the lock, and pushes in, then closes the door forcefully behind him, shutting Kakashi out.

There's a polite knock against the wood. “I think we’re neighbors,” Kakashi calls, and Obito closes his eyes and strangles a groan of complete despair.

 

 

The evenings in this place are about as nice as Obito remembers—clear, warm, and not too humid, with a nice breeze from across the lake and a few clouds on the horizon to catch the light of the sunset. It’s enough to make him risk a lack of mask as he leans against the balcony railing, tipping his face up towards the setting sun. the warmth of it is almost unfamiliar at this point, and he breathes it in with relief.

“Are hunter-nin really that deprived of sunlight?” Kakashi asks, from the other side of the wall separating their balconies, and the thrill of it arcs through Obito's chest like adrenaline. Kakashi is _maybe_ six feet away, and Obito has his mask off, his shirt off. If Kakashi slipped around the barrier wall, he’d see _everything_. It’s the stupidest risk Obito has ever taken, but he can't even bring himself to care at this point.

“You’ve been to Kiri,” he says, which isn't really an answer but can be taken as one.

Kakashi hums, agreeable. “It’s going to be a nice night,” he says, and there's the rustle of a page turning. That stupid porn series he likes so much, Obito assumes, and closes his eye with a smile. If he lets his imagination drift, he can think of this as a mission for the two of them, sharing a room, trading a few words in the peaceful evening light. Maybe at some point they’ll retire together, curl up in one bed, and—

He swallows, rubs his hands across his face with a silent sigh. “Yeah,” he agrees, and it feels like a victory that the word doesn’t crack. Someday. _Someday_. Orochimaru has always said that they’ll be able to go back home eventually, and he’ll bring in a new group of potential members. Obito is happy with that promise; Akatsuki’s work is vital, but he’s been missing his village for _decades_ at this point.

He’s been taking care of Kakashi, too. Just—little things. Making sure missions when he’s especially exhausted go smoothly. Helping, surreptitiously, when Kakashi and his squad need a miracle. A little extra of Kakashi’s favorite foods in the fridge when he staggers back home.

Leaving Konoha's information-gathering to Konan means he can't do that anymore, but that’s all right. Kakashi has a genin team, and Rin as a co-sensei. She takes care of Kakashi as well, and without ANBU pushing him right over the edge he has more time to not be a self-destructive moron.

Reaching out, Obito traces a touch across the wall, like he wants to trace Kakashi’s face, and then sighs and buries his face in his arms, elbows braced on the railing. _Stupid_ , he tells himself, and it is. He needs to move, use Kamui, get away from the risk of being found. If Kakashi sees him, things will _end_. Obito is valuable to Akatsuki because he’s assumed dead, because he can go where more recognizable shinobi would be spotted immediately, slip between countries in an instant and coordinate a thousand pieces all across the board. He _needs_ to keep doing that, because as good as Nawaki is there's only one of him, and Obito doubles their ability to cross the continent and respond immediately to threats or new information.

Kakashi could ruin that. There are maybe a handful of people who could identify Obito by sight, and Kakashi is foremost among them. Maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he’d fail to recognize Obito at all, but if he _does_ —

Obito is used to being valuable, to being Orochimaru’s hand across the world. He can't lose that, no matter how much he wants to grab Kakashi and kiss him senseless.

It would be easier if he were still in love with Rin, but—that was a little boy’s crush on his best friend, and when Rin moved on, he did, too. Rin's happy with Shizune, and Obito has been making sure Kakashi doesn’t get his idiot head chopped off for years now. There's a closeness that comes with that, even if it’s all on Obito's side. And beyond that, Kakashi was always what he aspired to, no matter how desperate and half-mad it made him as a kid.

“You really don’t want to swim in the lake?” Kakashi asks lightly.

Obito rolls his eye, not bothering to raise his head. “You first,” he retorts, and Kakashi chuckles.

“The breeze is so nice right now,” he says, and hums. “Is this a haunt of Kiri hunter-nin?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Obito counters, because he knows Kakashi’s opinions on comrade-killers—they're pretty much Obito's, after all.

“I'm just making conversation,” Kakashi protests.

Obito laughs before he can help it, a little rough. “Hey stranger, come here often?” he mocks.

“Now you're just being mean. It’s a classic line for a reason,” Kakashi says, trying to feign indignation and failing miserably. Obito can hear the smile in his voice.

It makes Obito shake his head, but something deep in his chest aches. Not—not a wound, but something a little sweeter. The last time he really _talked_ to Kakashi was before the Kannabi Bridge mission, and even that was short, stunted. They weren’t friends then, even if they’d been willing to die for each other.

“Classic doesn’t mean good, either,” he retorts, and pushes up from the railing. The sun is almost entirely set, only a thin band of orange-gold on the horizon, and Obito has the mad, stupid idea that he really does want to swim in the waters as they slowly darken to black. The moon is a slim crescent, barely enough for light, and Obito can use Kamui, get to the other side before Kakashi can follow him. A few hours in the open air, washing the sand from his skin, sounds like a good night to him.

“You aren’t even tempted?” Kakashi asks, halfway between mournful and amused.

“Of course I am,” Obito says, before he can help himself, and it’s the truth, laid out raw and bare. He closes his eye, rubs a hand over his bare face, and turns away. “Good night.”

There's a long, long pause, and then a breath. “Good night,” Kakashi says quietly, and there's a soft thump, like he just rapped his knuckles against the barrier between them.

Obito doesn’t let himself look back, just pulls his shirt on, settles his mask over his face, and leaves the room with steady, silent steps.

 

 

“I think I'm being _stalked_ ,” Obito hisses to Nawaki, clambering up into the branches of the beech tree where he’s perched.

Nawaki gives him an amused look, but hands over one of his onigiri. “Stalked?” he asks. “Is it Deidara again?”

“No,” Obito admits grudgingly, giving Nawaki a dark look. That was a bad six months, and he hates when people bring it up. “Kakashi keeps showing up on my missions. Or just—in places where I stop.”

Nawaki’s eyes widen, and he turns, giving Obito his full attention. “Do you think he knows?” he demands.

Obito hesitates, because it would be easy enough to assume that—Kakashi is a genius, after all, as long as people or emotions aren’t involved—but…he gets the feeling Kakashi would be a lot more consistent if that were the case. “No,” he admits. “I think he’s suspicious of a Kiri hunter-nin wandering around the continent, but not…anything else.”

The set of Nawaki’s shoulders eases, and he blows out a breath, takes a bite of his onigiri. “Good,” he says with relief. “That’s okay, isn't it? You can switch to another mask when you need it.”

“I think he’s tracking me through scent,” Obito mutters, giving the onigiri a dark look, too. He’s not overly fond of salmon. “And that’s going to be harder to hide than just switching a mask.”

“But you can do it,” Nawaki reminds him gently. “And using your eye will make it so there's no scent to follow at all.”

It takes effort not to wince. Obito _knows_ that, could have done it already, but he hasn’t wanted to. He’s a coward, though. He doesn’t want to lose this last bit of connection, this reminder of why he’s working so hard.

Nawaki is watching him, when he looks up, and he’s smiling, bright and warm. One of his hands is the same stark-white as Obito's replacement arm, and when he reaches out, touches Obito's wrist, it’s like the rush of rising sap in spring, green that shimmers through Obito's body and crests like a flower opening.

“Obito,” he says softly, “this isn't forever. You can retire, or just become an agent in a village.”

Obito hesitates, swallows. Wants to jump on the idea, but—

“Why haven’t you?” he blurts. “Minato is in Konoha, and Tsunade—Minato and Kushina even separated, so if you wanted—”

Nawaki’s smile is bittersweet. “I've been part of Akatsuki since I was twelve,” he says. “And that’s been a bit longer for me than it has for you. I don’t want to leave Orochimaru-sensei on his own, either.”

Obito doesn’t mention the boy Orochimaru has taken under his wing, and seems so fond of. Nawaki and Kabuto have something of a fractious relationship at the best of times. “I've heard him hinting at you retiring,” he says, carefully noncommittal.

Looking away, Nawaki turns his eyes to the windows of the Hokage's mansion, the shadows moving within. Tsunade is back from one of her trips, already preparing for the next one, but she’s laughing with Dan, letting him dance her across the living room floor.

“I've been watching for a long time,” Nawaki says softly. “I'm not sure I know _how_ to go back, Obito.”

Obito looks from Nawaki’s sad expression to the light in Tsunade's face, to the glow of the village around them. To the shadows, deeper than most, where they’re sitting. He thinks about the last time Kakashi found him, on a mission in Taki with Kakuzu, and the way Kakashi teased him with terrible pickup lines and invited him to share his team’s camp that night. He still thinks Obito is a hunter-nin from Kiri, but—

What if he could say those things to Obito, and mean them?

“What if,” he says, forcing the words out through his rough throat. “What if we went together?”

Nawaki’s breath hitches, curls out on a laugh. “Teamwork?” he asks.

Obito tips one shoulder in a shrug, trying for nonchalant but probably missing by a mile. “We need a story, anyway. Bloodline thieves are a good one. The two of us ending up together and getting free at the same time—it’s more believable than us getting away separately, right?”

Nawaki grins, and there's a definitely edge of mischief to it. “It is,” he agrees, and takes one more glance at Tsunade, laughing with Dan as they spin together in their home. “I've missed her so much,” he says, more to himself than anything.

 _I've missed my reasons, too_ , Obito doesn’t say, but he looks out over Konoha and breathes, steady and careful, and closes his eye in the warm darkness.

They’re going home, he thinks, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to find me on Tumblr, I'm now blackkatmagick.


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